Toxic
by bad birthday
Summary: Just what goes on in the mind of a 'killer'.


_Hello. I remember watching the 4400 a while back. I thought the first episode was brilliant. But sometime after that the series just didn't click with me anymore. Then along came the episode 'Carrier'. I loved that episode and I loved poor Jean. Nothing to deep here just a little something I came up._

**Toxic**

Life is unfair. Everyone knew that. It was a basic fact of being alive. But sometimes life it seemed just wasn't satisfied with the deck of cards it had already dealt and just felt the need to add and add and keep adding more and more to that already painful stack for no apparent reason other then for it's own amusement.

She was divorced.

Had no kids.

Her parents thought had she was a failure.

She was nothing.

Such was the life of Jean DeLynn Baker. She was a 4400 and a loser, who's entire life was nothing but a plague to everyone else's.

So when the whole 4400 deal had happened and she literally had become a walking plague that could kill anything, boy had her whole world been turned upside down, sent to hell and just about everything in between.

How did she go on she asked herself. She was to scared to even end her life. She was totally worthless.

Just what had she done to deserve this sick joke of a life she called hers. Because unwittingly killing dozens of people, even her own parent's, was the ultimate sick joke that life could play on a person.

"Why!" She had thought aloud, "Why me!"

Toxic. That's what she now was.

She just didn't know what to do. And that's when she realised it. The truth. That Jesus freak was right. Humanities end was coming... and she was it. It was then she turned on autopilot with one aim in mind, to cleanse the human race. That was it! That was her purpose. The reason she had been abducted in the first place. It just had to be. It just had to?

So she had walked in to the centre of a busy street. The dozens of people walking past her completely oblivious to what was to transpire. She raised her hands and closed her eyes.

Nothing would stop her.

Nothing **could** stop her.

The time is at hand.

"Jean."

What the? "Baldwin?"

"That's right." He replied and took a step toward her.

Why was he here and why was he trying to talk her out of doing this? He should have been with his family... not here. He looked concerned and for a brief second she thought he was concerned about her. And then reality snapped back. Of course he was concerned. She could kill him in a heart beat. But then, he knew that so why did he come?

He continued trying to persuade her to relent and forget about her plans of genocide. She had enough.

"I'm already a killer!"

"No you haven't decided to kill anyone, that's what your doing right now."

But...

Tom reached out with his hand. "What ever your thinking about, destiny or fate your wrong. You don't have to do this. You don't."

Something stirred inside her. Maybe... he was right? Then the blister's had begun to form on her hand's again, itching, burning.

No! It was to late and now she couldn't stop it!

And then the pain. A bullet. She'd been shot. Fuck...

She looked up, startled, and saw that it was the woman with Baldwin, gun in hand pointing at her with trembling hands.

In all truth she couldn't even blame her for doing it. It was probably for the best that she was dead. She knew that now. But the thing that hurt the most, the thing that truly was more painful then her wound was that there was nobody, nobody who would protest about her being shot and killed as something that was wrong. There are countless people world over who would be grateful she was now gone. Nobody would protest, even with the most hushed voice, that some other kind of action could have been taken.

She began to fall, only half aware that before she had hit the floor a pair of strong yet gentle hands had reached out and grabbed her and were now gently laying her down. Through blinking eyes she could barely see her hands were being covered with some kind of foam. As the darkness began to creep over her and her eyes began to close, she could only make out one last thing.

Him. Baldwin.

He was stood over her with the same look of concern he'd had before, cradling her in his arms. Had he really been worried for her? She didn't know. But she did know now there would be no more pain.

If she could have said anything that moment she would have said one last thing, _Thank you._


End file.
